you question them on your own. I’ll observe.”
“Are you sure? This is your town. I don’t want to overstep.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if you do.”
5
Dylan felt anxious standing in the entryway of the restaurant. He was about to tell Tyler he was leaving when a waitress, who looked vaguely familiar, took him by the arm and smiled sympathetically. She seated them in a booth next to the front windows and leaned in to set out the cutlery. He didn’t know what to do when she handed him the menu. He sat rigid in the cushioned seat, but his eyes moved across the restaurant like mine sweepers. He could actually taste the acrid smoke. Red dust was gritty in his mouth. He tasted blood too. It was that day again. He was out on patrol with his platoon. Hot white light reflected off buildings. One minute he was walking. The next he was falling. They dragged him into a nearby school. The high windows were cracked, the broken sky blue. Dark-eyed children cowered under desks. Their teacher begged the soldiers to leave. All that chaos. All that noise. The medic was calm, though. He never stopped talking to Dylan.
You’re going home now. You’re safe. Just focus on that.
Dylan glanced from one diner to another, but found no sign of home. Every spoken word was a warning. Every noise reverberated in his head at ten times its natural volume. Perspiration beaded on his skin. He clenched his fist and the blue veins on his forearm swelled like rivers. He reached for the knife only to have someone snatch it away.
The man sitting across from him spoke in a low voice. His disjointed words floated through the air. Dylan tried to put them in an order he understood, but nothing made sense. A big round head with searching eyes leaned toward him.
“Dylan, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Dylan flinched at the sound of his name. He opened his mouth to speak, but his plea for help rolled back on his tongue like a sucking tide. He swallowed. There was pressure on his hand. It was being squeezed. The knife was gone. The fork too.
“Dylan, it’s okay.”
Dylan glanced down at his arm and watched the veins swell. It is not okay.
“Do you need to get out of here?”
He might have said yes .
There was no way they could leave through the front door. There were too many people. He’d never make it. The round face was no longer across from him. A voice whispered in his ear.
“Come with me. Let’s get you outside.”
The man pulled him by the arm and he stumbled from the booth. A woman looked up from her newspaper and stared. Another held a phone to her ear. He could hear every word. There was a squeal and a small child was lifted high. It floated through the air from one set of hands to another. A bell chimed and the front door opened. More people crowded in. They wore work clothes and were strangers to him.
Dylan let himself be led. They went out the back way. He dragged his fingertips along the wall as he tripped down a narrow passage that took him past the kitchen. His shirt was damp with sweat but his mouth was as dry as ash. A door swung open and he was thrust out into sunlight. It bounced off the whitewashed wall of the building opposite. He staggered toward it, only to be wheeled round again.
“Dylan, I want you to listen to me. You’re home. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you again. Do you hear me, Dylan?”
Dylan understood everything this time. He buried his head in Tyler’s shoulder and wept.
* * *
They sat in the front seat of Tyler’s Suburban, staring out at the people gathering in front of The Whitefish. Despite the heat, Dylan was shivering. He pulled his sweatshirt’s hood over his head and closed his eyes. Now that it was over he only wanted to sleep.
Tyler spoke through a cloud of cigarette smoke. “I don’t suppose you want to talk about what just happened in there.”
“I’ve got it under control.”
“No, you don’t. You’ve got some serious shit going on in
“Are you sure? This is your town. I don’t want to overstep.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if you do.”
5
Dylan felt anxious standing in the entryway of the restaurant. He was about to tell Tyler he was leaving when a waitress, who looked vaguely familiar, took him by the arm and smiled sympathetically. She seated them in a booth next to the front windows and leaned in to set out the cutlery. He didn’t know what to do when she handed him the menu. He sat rigid in the cushioned seat, but his eyes moved across the restaurant like mine sweepers. He could actually taste the acrid smoke. Red dust was gritty in his mouth. He tasted blood too. It was that day again. He was out on patrol with his platoon. Hot white light reflected off buildings. One minute he was walking. The next he was falling. They dragged him into a nearby school. The high windows were cracked, the broken sky blue. Dark-eyed children cowered under desks. Their teacher begged the soldiers to leave. All that chaos. All that noise. The medic was calm, though. He never stopped talking to Dylan.
You’re going home now. You’re safe. Just focus on that.
Dylan glanced from one diner to another, but found no sign of home. Every spoken word was a warning. Every noise reverberated in his head at ten times its natural volume. Perspiration beaded on his skin. He clenched his fist and the blue veins on his forearm swelled like rivers. He reached for the knife only to have someone snatch it away.
The man sitting across from him spoke in a low voice. His disjointed words floated through the air. Dylan tried to put them in an order he understood, but nothing made sense. A big round head with searching eyes leaned toward him.
“Dylan, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Dylan flinched at the sound of his name. He opened his mouth to speak, but his plea for help rolled back on his tongue like a sucking tide. He swallowed. There was pressure on his hand. It was being squeezed. The knife was gone. The fork too.
“Dylan, it’s okay.”
Dylan glanced down at his arm and watched the veins swell. It is not okay.
“Do you need to get out of here?”
He might have said yes .
There was no way they could leave through the front door. There were too many people. He’d never make it. The round face was no longer across from him. A voice whispered in his ear.
“Come with me. Let’s get you outside.”
The man pulled him by the arm and he stumbled from the booth. A woman looked up from her newspaper and stared. Another held a phone to her ear. He could hear every word. There was a squeal and a small child was lifted high. It floated through the air from one set of hands to another. A bell chimed and the front door opened. More people crowded in. They wore work clothes and were strangers to him.
Dylan let himself be led. They went out the back way. He dragged his fingertips along the wall as he tripped down a narrow passage that took him past the kitchen. His shirt was damp with sweat but his mouth was as dry as ash. A door swung open and he was thrust out into sunlight. It bounced off the whitewashed wall of the building opposite. He staggered toward it, only to be wheeled round again.
“Dylan, I want you to listen to me. You’re home. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you again. Do you hear me, Dylan?”
Dylan understood everything this time. He buried his head in Tyler’s shoulder and wept.
* * *
They sat in the front seat of Tyler’s Suburban, staring out at the people gathering in front of The Whitefish. Despite the heat, Dylan was shivering. He pulled his sweatshirt’s hood over his head and closed his eyes. Now that it was over he only wanted to sleep.
Tyler spoke through a cloud of cigarette smoke. “I don’t suppose you want to talk about what just happened in there.”
“I’ve got it under control.”
“No, you don’t. You’ve got some serious shit going on in
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